


You Float All Around Like A Happened Balloon

by emeriin



Series: Hookerverse [1]
Category: That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 18:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeriin/pseuds/emeriin
Summary: This is part of a hookerverse for the Channel Awesome characters (that they're okay with) and this was a big re-introduction story to introduce people so they wouldn't get horribly confused. Also to get the ball rolling on plots. The original characters are better than you think they are.





	You Float All Around Like A Happened Balloon

Monday

Y always liked early mornings best. They were quiet, he was still awake thanks to the adrenaline (whether it be a busy night or their own theatrics) of the club, lights were starting to shine through the grayness of the sky and he was one of the few who personally enjoyed the chill.

Plus it was 7:00AM on a Monday and, ever since he and Lucy had decided to call it quits coming up to nearly two years now, and Paw's relationship with Donna had dissolved not long after because Benzaie had left, the two men had decided to meet up once week at the nearby Dunkin Donuts for coffee, a sugar rush and a chat. It made the following days less depressing.

Paw was currently talking about a girl he'd just met online, so animatedly that he might as well have been talking to himself.

“Her name is Elisa, she's got this gorgeous really long blonde hair, she looks perfect in a corset, and she's really into vampires it's adorable.”

Y humored him. In his experience, online relationships never worked out, whether it was just awkward fail or ending up in a ditch awful, but Paw in gushing teenage lover mode was fun. “You never know, it's the internet, she might actually be a vampire and kill you.”

Paw's eyes glazed over in rapture. “She's so hot I wouldn't mind her owning me forever.” He blinked, coming back to himself. “Oh and she lives in New York, and we've been talking about meeting up when we can both afford it.”

Y raised his eyebrows. He couldn't exactly see marriage and kids on the cards, and that wasn't just because he was the cynical sort. “How long have you been talking to this chick?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Paw had the sense to look abashed. “A couple of weeks? But! What's the worst that could happen?”

He couldn't help but scoff. Paw was always one to forget about shit easily, at one point even wanting to go back with Donna before having to be reminded the pain she put him through. “You've worked as a DJ in Hooker Drama Central how long now?”

His snark didn't seem to work as Paw just shrugged. “I got out of drama when I split up with Donna. I'm just saying, if it fails then I'm in a place finally where I can handle it, and if it goes well then good things could happen. I think I deserve that.”

He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. This is why he liked Paw, it was like they were the only sane people at the club. Lucy would yell and call him stuck up, and she'd be right, but you could be haughty and correct at the same time. “Okay I'm satisfied. Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Tuesday

As a general rule, the boys and girls weren't allowed to actually go out with customers, even regular ones. Oh Nerd and Critic had gleefully exploited the loophole when he came over, arguing loudly that he didn't really count, because their beer sucked so he didn't have any of it, he only fucked Critic once for money and the rest of the time, they banged in off hours. Chick had eventually convinced Michaud to not ban Nerd just to shut them both up.

As into drama as they both were, Linkara and Insano didn't even bother with that, they just went out anyway.

On Spoony's money. To mostly dive bars that opened in the afternoons. And because Insano was both lazy and cheap, Linkara had to give him a piggy back ride more than once.

But it was still nice. Especially when Tuesday night shifts were the worst, with customers who weren't even interested in them but looking for a fight with others, and Linkara felt the need to psyche himself up. Breaking up brawls was tough, draining, obnoxious work, especially when it cut into your earnings, and usually ended up with bruises that either lost you more money or attracted the people you wanted even less.

He was currently chewing on a slimy slippery chicken and onions burger like he needed it to breathe. He didn't skip food like some of the girls, perks of living with his mom, but actual filling sustenance was rarer than he wanted.

Insano, skinny jittering always acting like he was on drugs even when he wasn't Insano, wasn't interested in food, preferring instead to paw Linkara's leg. A bit like a cat in heat, only somehow more endearing but also irritating.

He moved away. Not that he didn't like canoodling with the wannabe scientist, 'kidnapping the hero' fantasies aside the guy was his most gentle customer, and he was going to get harassed far worse in a few hours so he should really be grateful, but he had his limits for free groping in public places.

“Would you stop? I'm trying to eat.” It came out snappier than he intended, but it was hard to sound playful with your mouth full.  
Insano's eyes were hidden by the goggles, he'd never actually seen the man take them off, but he could still see the look of furrowed consternation in his brow. “Am I not better than a burger?” he screeched, as was his usual tone.

He tried to shush him, casting worried looks over some beefy looking college guys who didn't seem the type to be nice to... his kind. “Voice down!” he muttered. “Of course you are. I just... don't need you to live.”

Wrong thing to say. Insano's face stretched like he was going to unhinge his jaw and eat Linkara alive, but suddenly he stopped, looking almost... weary. It was unsettling and he didn't like it.

“So we done then.” As much as he complained about the shouting, the flat tone was worse.

He was gone even before Linkara had grasped the fact that he may have been broken up with.

Wednesday

The Other Girl was restless tonight. Penny had got a temporary spine and shooed her off, fretting about forms and money and tax shit that The Other Girl just couldn't feign interest in, even if she weren't a “evil fae in human form” as Penny had put it one time. She wasn't in the mood for torture, and even if she was, the club was too quiet. Taking Critic away for their usual fun, mindfucking Donna or mutilating Stacey with pins would go too noticed.

She would have just put the pain boner away for a night and watched a gin game, trying to trigger Stacey's OCD or poke Donna's temper and hoping sparks would fly, if it hadn't been for her eyes suddenly falling on a flash of orange in the corner. It was a young woman who looked completely out of place, with a garish sweater, red scarf, messy hair and huge glasses.

But she was looking so intently at Critic, who was bent over the bar talking to a hiding skiving Lucy and completely oblivious to both the staring and how his position was completely unsuitable for a man in a short skirt. But that might have the point, it could go either way with him.

Rambling really wasn't her style though, so she snaked over to the girl, plastering a friendly smile on her face because this one looked like she could run a mile if you looked the tiniest bit unsafe.

“Hi dear,” she said sweetly, like a patient barmaid to a jittering drunk. “I like your shirt.” It was increasing the need to hurt someone actually, but never let it be said that she didn't have priorities. She was pragmatic and patient and willing to put up with a lot of shit to get what she wanted. Came with the territory of existing for hundreds of years and only coming into form when vengeful abused little girls called to her.

Actually being talked to made the woman even more skittish. Her fingers tightened around her glass (soda, not alcohol) as she mumbled a thank you, but her eyes were still trained on the blue veins in the Critic's thighs.

“Admiring the view?”

“I know I don't know him but he's just really pretty and I want...” She instantly stopped her sentence and stared at the table. The Other Girl didn't really notice however, she was cocking her head at Critic. Honestly she had no interest in his“pretty”, men in general looked too much like pigs anyway, what got her off was the checked out sneering twitch when he'd cottoned on to her presence, the bones in his wrists moving when he was trying to get out of rope, the high pitched muffled whine when she'd scraped press on nails along his dick.

Man, again with the rambling. She was off her game. She smiled again at the woman, who clearly didn't notice that genuine smiles didn't show off that many teeth. “Y'know he's a whore right?” she said, casually with a hint of patronizing. “You could pay, ride that handsome face and then tell all your little friends you lost your virginity the fun way.”

The girl's intense blushing was delightful. “No!” she squirmed, and the Other Girl tensed in ready for her running out, ready to grab. “I want... I want to...” Her voice lowered to hushed tones and leaned in like she had a confidant. “...keep him and make him fall in love with me?”

She'd always had a suspicion that love was fake, and this chick was proving her right, clearly ashamed of just being attracted to someone and trying to convince herself it was something more, but this could prove entertaining. She sat down at the table, still super casual. “So, I'm curious. How's a tiny thing like you gonna drag a six foot man in heels to your place?” At 5'9 in no heels, she was at least close to Critic's actual height, plus she had the strength to restrain him when he was struggling. This girl was half his size and looked like she could tire out walking up the stairs.

Someone taking an interest in her creepiness clearly relaxed the girl and she smiled a bit, finally letting Critic out of her sight. The fact that she also suddenly looked more lucid probably wasn't a coincidence. “Oh I have help.” She nodded towards another corner in the bar, where The Other Girl was slightly ashamed to only have just noticed the black assassin-looking man looking both alert and hidden in the background. “That's Bennie”, she said proudly, picking up on the moment of having an upper hand. “He's pricy but loyal.”

She could grow to like this woman. “So you got the muscle, how about we share the brain? I know Critic, I can help you get what you want.”

A grin formed, either naively thinking they were now friends or just happy she had a shot of getting her prize, and a hand shot out. “I'm Hyper Fangirl.” Whatever, but it's not like she had room to talk on what you call yourself. She smiled lazily and shook the offered hand.

She'd always wanted a protégé.  
-  
Meanwhile, Lucy was just in the middle of ranting to Critic about how her sister Macayla was getting shit from her snobby cheating girlfriend but not letting anyone get involved (“oh she won't let up when she thinks you have a problem, but try to help her in anything and it's gawd shat up I can take care of meself!”) when the door opened. It was a dead enough night for that to be enough of an event to have everyone (except Lucy) look, and Critic chuckled at the fedora-wearing man reacting like a deer in headlights. He'd clearly thought he could slip in and not get noticed.

“Hey Luc,” he said quietly, pointing a finger at the fidgeting man. “Your favorite hat arrived.”

She scrambled up enough to peek over the bar and then scrunched up her face in a scowl. “Ugh. Burn them all.”

“What about Linkara?”

Snorting playfully, she waved her hand. “The guy talks at you until you have no choice but to agree with him. I love him but he could do with a singe. Anyway! This dude's obviously your type, do your duty young lady.”

He opened his mouth to try and fob the guy off to someone else, when you've got away with not working all night you wanted that to continue, but Lucy was in zipper stimming country and there was no point.

He plastered on a smile and walked over with his hips, dimly aware that he was being watched but that was the peril of having a scrap of a skirt on. “Hi sweetie, can I get you a drink?” He hated his voice when he was working. At least high pitched squawking felt more like himself.

Man looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow, not quite disgusted but not as appreciative as he should be. “...jesus.”

It was so hard when you were only allowed to snark as cutely as possible. “...might have been killed earlier if he looked like this.” What he wanted to say was “fuck off I look great for someone who would much rather be at home in his underwear”.

That at least got the guy to laugh softly. “Do those heels hurt? They look good but I could never wear them.” There was a pause where he looked Critic in the eye, completely filling the cliché of “pained puppy”, wanting him to get the hidden meaning, and Critic got it. Hooker.

He took the man's hand gently, feeling like he was stealing Liz's shtick slightly, and led him to the bar. “We'll get to that. Drinks first. What's your name honey?”

“Donnie Dupre”. It was too quick and too high pitched to be his real name, but it's not like he could talk. He could count on one hand even people in the club who knew his own given name.

He leaned over the bar, pouring them both some smirnoff. It wasn't his favorite by a long shot, but he needed a quickie drink and he got the impression the guy was a lightwight much like himself.

When Donnie took the drink, he noticed the wedding band. “So what's the story there then? Kinky thing for the girls and boys or actually married?”

Again with the deer in headlights look. “Actually married,” Donnie said, so soft it was almost whimpering. “Not happily though.”

It may be part of the shtick. He'd pulled the sad limping kitten act plenty of times. It always worked though, even on people who should know better, so he couldn't fault Donnie for using it too.

But he should probably get down to business. “So what would you like? Be honest.” A part of him hated bringing the actual kinks out, but sometimes the vanilla hemming and hawwing was more obnoxious. Nobody cared if you were a jock who wanted to be pegged, get over it and give the money over.

Donnie sunk his head and muttered unintelligibly. Lucy noticed and spoke up, irritated. “A little louder, fedora boy.”

He waved her off, not wanting to scare the guy who seemed more like an abused dog than a human, but it seemed to help. “Can I... can we... go in the changing room and...”

“And?”

“Can I try on those boots?”

He was a little surprised. He had plenty of boot kink customers, from girls who wanted to lick them to sub guys who wanted to be walked on, but it was such a simple request that he wondered why he'd never been asked that until now.

“Uh yeah sure,” he said, downing the drink (why waste anything?) and taking the man's hand again. “It's through here.”

Donnie's face twisted into a grimace when they entered the room, but Critic really didn't think it was that bad. It smelled a bit, and used mascaras weren't thrown out properly, and the mirrors could use dusting, but if you thought this was bad then you'd faint at the worker bathroom. For once he had felt bad for Ellis and Michaud having to dispose of tampons and period pads.

Catching onto the awkward silence, Donnie ducked his head again, at least with a small apologetic smile this time. “Sorry, bad history generally with dressing rooms.”

He was starting to get the impression that his customer really was that broken. He was kind of jealous still though, how nice must it be to not actually have to fake a hook?

“Anyway!” he clapped his hands to get a move on, now stealing from Donna when she tactlessly wanted to change the subject. “How do you want to do this?”

Donnie seemed to perk up, a lot like he admittedly did when he saw a cute green or red mini dress. He pushed that stuff down obviously, he didn't need more crowing from Lucy or Donna, but a boy could have urges, especially if everyone knew he could rock it anyway.

“I just wanna relax, look nice, not fall over.” A genuine smile this time. It was nice.

“Okay”, he said, sitting on one of the stools to take them off. He'd fall over himself if he tried to do it standing. “Forewarning, they're numbing as hell so I lose track of what goes on down there. If they stink bomb the place out or are filled with blood I'm charging you extra.”

The other man laughed, and he liked this version a lot better than the beaten down sadsack. “I got an infection from a nasty needle-loving guy and got a promo for my movie 'cos of it.” A slightly different kind of horror story to the usual ones shared, but you learned different ways of doing things every day.

With a groan that was more real than any sound that came out of his mouth when he was with a customer, he finally got the boots off. As he had suspected, and like always happened, his feet were in massive pain, akin to what those Chinese chicks must feel like after foot binding.

He rested against the table, letting the blood flow back to them (when he shucked his clothes off in the flat he was too focused on sleeping like the dead to care) when a small cough from Donnie bought him back to reality.

“Oh. Yeah. Still wanna do this?”

Donnie nodded.

He got off the seat, catching himself in one of the wall length mirrors and frowning at his brain making him think that his legs looked bulbous, and let Donnie replace him. “All yours.”

Donnie sat down, hiking up his jeans (it said something about the other guy, or maybe just himself, that Critic thought there'd be a garter belt or something under there, but no), and wriggled his foot into one of the boots. Lucky Donnie was slightly smaller than him.

Eventually zipping them both up, Donnie held out his hands like a child. Critic raised an eyebrow. “Really? I would have thought you were the kind to be accustomed to heels.”

A shrug. “I'm more of a make-up and manicures kinda guy. Help.”

With an eyeroll that had a hint of affection, and still feeling irritatingly short, he hauled the man up. Donnie immediately wobbled like he was on stilts, but Critic had enough strength at least to steady him. Good thing he had convinced the McDonalds manager to give him two burger meals for free that afternoon. And by free he meant blowjob in the back, they were essentially the same thing by now.

“Okay,” Donnie said, like a kid who was finally ready to take the training wheels off his bike. “I think I'm alright.”

Tentatively, Critic let go, still hovering around. He cared a little bit, but the main reason was that if Donnie fell and broke something, he'd be in so much trouble.

Donnie honestly wasn't that bad, he could probably get the hang of them faster than Critic himself could, but he was making the newbie mistake of walking like he was on a tightrope. Which, again, could get him to fall over and bad lawsuits would ensue.

After thinking about it for a second, still feeling under-dressed, too short and just... incomplete, he placed his hands very gently (mostly because Donnie had tensed up even in the vicinity of touching, and he could guess why) on the guy's hips.

“Can a pro offer advice?”

“Oh?”

“You're walking like you're nervous. Walk with your hips and own the place.” He was sounding like an old drag queen giving advice to someone younger and prettier, but Donnie had relaxed and there was far less wobbling.

Five minutes and strutting was going on. Donnie was delighted and Critic watched him from his seating place on the table.

“I love these so much,” Donnie almost squealed. “Also, not to brag, but they make my ass look amazing.”

He had to let out a laugh. “Yeah that's one of their perks.”

Donnie fixed him with a look, the “huge anime girl eyes” one that he used himself probably way too much. “Can I have them?”

He got off the table. “Okay kiddo,” firm but relaxed, “that's enough ego boost. Time to take them off and give them back.”

The other man pouted, lip jutting right out and everything. “Fine.”

Donnie was still sulking as he still unzipped the boots, and this probably wasn't needed but Critic felt like saying it anyway. “Tell you what, come over again and I'll let you try on the corset.”

Donnie's grin was massive. “I look forward to it.”

-

Donnie was out and neither Tacoma or Rebecca particularly wanted to go home. They'd solved this dilemma by lounging on the couch, him reading a script for a commercial voiceover (he'd told a panicking Donnie that he was never going to leave and probably wasn't going to get it, which had calmed the man down considerably) and her lying down, staring at the ceiling, with her legs over Tacoma's lap.

Eventually, she waved her hand in a queenly gesture. “Tell me a story.”

He patted her thigh in an off-hand way, still holding his script. “Didn't you get enough of those when you were a kid?”

She raised an arch but not unkind eyebrow. “I got Uncle Frank instead” she reminded him in a low voice.

He didn't outwardly show it, he knew she hated him considering her in need of protection, but his organs clenched at the foot in mouth. He made his voice gentle. “What kinda story would you like?”

She chewed her lip, thinking. “I want... a princess. But she's the one who slays the demons and rescues the pretty kings tied up in the tower and gets to sleep with both of them.”

As much as he liked the written word, he was never one for the more vocal style of storytelling, but Rebecca's priorities were endearing and he wanted to try.

“Once upon a time”, he started. Despite all the Disney he'd watched, the words still sounded foreign to him. A mother who passive aggressively charged her black sheep son to talk to her was never going to be one for fairy tales. “There lived a... kickass princess named...” He glanced over at Rebecca, trying to gauge how indulgent she wanted this. “Becca.” Her smile confirmed that was the right choice.

“Princess Becca was outwardly beautiful...” He felt Rebecca sigh faintly, but he wasn't planning on fucking this up. “...but what everyone loved her for was her passion and spirit.” Her tenseness faded and he continued with more confidence. “She was strong, quick with a sword, more intelligent than most men in the village, and so courageous that the world found it hard to contain her.”

She had started holding his hand at the last part, and it was difficult to see but he swore her eyes were shining. He squeezed her hand in return. “But her family didn't see this. Because she didn't want to do the standard princess things, like get married, wear a corset while learning to cook, or even just bow to men who didn't treat her right, they spent a lot of the time ignoring her.”

He could tell she was waiting for a handsy uncle, that crept in her room at night and left damage that stayed long after the skin cells he'd touched had died off, but this was indulgence and he wasn't going there. “While she knew logically that they weren't worth it, she had a kind heart that needed to be loved, and wanted their approval. So, one day, she overheard them talking. Two kings in nearby lands had been captured, King... Donald and King... Tahoma...”

He faltered slightly, losing confidence regarding his naming abilities, but her excited nod was reassuring.

“With the help of her hidden girlfriend, Princess Tamara,” (Rebecca giggled, and he wondered if his brothers would cheer him on because he was dating a bisexual girl, or hate him even more for not keeping her to himself. Then of course there was Donnie...) “they hatched a plan to save the kings herself. They borrowed the best sword and the most sensible armor, and as her parents were the underestimating type, they weren't suspected.”

“In the dead of night, and with a kiss for luck, she took off. She also had caffeine laced with amphetamines with her – not as much as the German bartender had given her that one time! - so that she could be alert and confound the enemy with teleporting or moonwalking skills if needed.”

He'd had more ideas, mostly involving dragons, but Rebecca, while still looking riveted, was clearly starting to nod off. With acting, working on her own play with Carmen Sandiego as a superhero and her security guard job, almost every day seemed to be too long for her. So he started to wrap it up.

“The journey was long, and she'd faced many obstacles, but she proved her worth over and over and the villages were starting to praise her name.”

“Eventually she got to the tower where the kings were being held right on the top floor. The bad guys had already fled, scared of what she might do to them, and so climbing up there and knocking the doors down was easy. When she finally got to the room...

“Hope they were making out,” murmured Rebecca, half asleep with an endearingly pervy smile on her face.

“Heh, okay yeah sure they were making out. They were both astonishingly attractive,” (he could be allowed his own indulgence) “and Donald knew from experience that being held captive was exceedingly boring, so it was mostly just to pass the time as they'd exhausted all the other options.”

“When they saw Rebecca, they instantly fell in love with her. Together, they went back to her own kingdom and, because she had got so popular, her parents were forced by public opinion to let them rule happily together. Girlfriend included.”

Rebecca clapped tiredly and squirmed around so her head was in Tacoma's lap. “I love all of you,” she said, curling up on his stomach before finally nodding off for good.

He kissed her head and quietly went back to his script. “We love you.”

Thursday

Ask That Guy was never comfortable around Sage. Oh when he had first started, he was so arrogant and naïve and sure of himself that it was like bliss o vision where he couldn't see the red flags, but that hadn't lasted for long. Being sent away for weeks so your twin could get played with by your co-workers because you fucked up even just slightly would introduce anyone to the cold reality.

But Sage was being particularly... squirrely tonight, eyes darting around and hands fidgeting with paper. It was the kind of serial killer behavior that ended up with the nearest person strangled and a ditch. To make it worse, Ask That Guy had heard on the grapevine that two men, one Irish and one German, both intimidating, both apparently connected to one of the whores Sage was stringing along, were sneaking around trying to find answers, and they were getting worryingly close.

Being the selfish sort, he was mostly nervous about how it would affect him, not so much the grander scheme of things. Paying rent was hard enough, neither he or Critic needed to die and make it worse for the other.

“Ask That Guy,” Stressed and sharp, with a bit of manic laughter thrown in there too. Suddenly he craved his pipe. Critic wasn't the only one who wanted something in his mouth when he got nervous. “If you haven't told me about... police types asking you questions or following you around, Daddy will be cross.”

Sage being “cross” with you meant being never seen again, with the added bonus of ending up in abusive porn if you didn't look like a homeless crack addict. But he was pretty certain that he hadn't slipped up. “I've been careful, I promise. And if I've been followed and hadn't noticed, or if I've even let a girl pass and she blabbed, you can fuck my twin in the empty eyesocket and I can watch.”

Airily acting like Critic being held hostage over him wasn't a bother at all did the trick, as Sage relaxed and chuckled slightly. “Ah Guy, that's why you're my favorite.”

Ask That Guy smiled back, but his posture was still rigid. Always best to be vigilant and alert. Even if he were safe from Sage, that didn't mean he wasn't safe from other members of the business, especially if Sage liked him best. “Thank you sir.”

Getting up, Sage poured out a bottle of brandy. “So what would you like to do? We could hang around Club Awesome, have some fun with that fragile little redhead? Or that haughty girl with the curly hair?” Ask That Guy knew Sage could easily go through all the girls, he didn't really have a type.

He'd been banned ever since he'd left Critic handcuffed to the outside railing with a long deep bleeding cut from groin to boot edge. Long story. Which Sage knew about, so he just kept his head down with his hands in his lap, waiting for the next option.

“Or we could watch your brother getting fucked? Naturally I acquired a copy of his film.” Ask That Guy could tell the difference between a 'request', one that he had to obey or else, and an actual asking him if he wanted to do anything. Luckily this was the latter.

Plus he'd already seen it. It was an average snuff flick; with standard grabbing legs apart, pulling of the tie, dragging him across the floor, and the plastic bag around Critic's neck not tight enough, but he had still wanted to kill them all. Nerd too, when he'd found out that the foul mouthed whiny little bitch was the first one that Critic had called afterwards. He'd settled for locking Critic out the next night and never telling him why.

He laughed in a way that was hopefully natural. “I fuck him harder than that most nights.”

Sage's smile was dangerous, as he slowly walked up to him while undoing his belt. “And yet you kneel for me so easy.”

He got hurt, and then he hurt other people. That was just life.

-

“So, uh, how's Critic doing?”

Chick raised her eyebrow and Mike J let out a snigger. “Oh sweetheart, beat around the bush a little more.”

Other Guy ignored him and kept meeting Chick's gaze, hoping he'll break her down. It sometimes happened. “So?”

She didn't give, at least not yet. “You asked me that last month.”

“To be fair,” interjected Mike, “a lot can happen to a crossdressing gentleman of the night in a month.” Any other man would have withered under Chick's glare, but he just sipped his tea smugly.

“I'll give you a free beer for a week if you tell me how he's been, the nice stuff too.” His desperation at least got a laugh out of her.

“Query,” she started, leaning forward. Stepping back would be a sign of weakness, although he was tempted. “Why the caring now? Hell, you don't even come to the club, just badger me despite how most of the times I dodge your question.”

Because he was a coward who wanted to alleviate his guilt. Besides, he didn't need to see more of Ask That Guy more than he needed to anyway. One of these times someone probably wouldn't make it out alive, he didn't know who yet. But that wasn't a good answer. “Well when someone is more interested in hanging around their abusive twin who hates you...” When in doubt, blame the guy you set on fire.

She rolled her eyes, clearly not on his side even despite their mutual hatred of the robed man. “He told me you choked him more than once.”  
That got Mike's interest, gleefully morbid asshole that he was. “Really? Was he that annoying? Is that why his voice is akin to a screeching monkey?”

He had the sense to squirm. “It was just Garbage Pail Kids! It made me angry... and he was there... and so were the Christmas lights... he didn't tell our parents so he probably wasn't that upset...”

Mike had a wondrous look in his eyes. “Mr Walker, I am very turned on right now.”

This was getting nowhere fast. He fixed Chick with a puppy look that both Critic and Guy always tortured their parents with. “Listen, I have issues. I've done shitty things. But isn't it something that I care even a little bit?”

That seemed to bring her guard down. “Ugh. Rob... he's... fine, I guess. Pain in my ass, popping pills because he's bored, whiny fucker as always, but he's fine.”

“That's good.” He really did mean it. He wasn't just saying it because it was the right response.

With a world weary sigh, she pushed herself off the stool. “Okay, this interrogation was real neato, but work is other side of town and I'm not walking in the rain. Hail me a taxi would you?”

“Tell Critic I said hi?” It was a long shot but.

“Don't push your luck.”

He'll get her a cheap one with a dude who talks too much and maybe next time she'd yield.

Friday

Lucy was in her usual place of behind the bar counter, hiding from everyone and counting the cracks on the ceiling. Liz, having nobody to game with, was curled up in the corner scrolling through Benedict Cumberbatch pictures on her phone, getting super flushed and jumpy when anyone came near her. And, even though she would deny it, anyone could hear Penny pacing around the bathroom and talking angrily to herself.

The girls weren't the only ones to skive off when nights were slow. Ellis was just wandering around the place, grabbing cobwebs from corners where his baby was showing her age and wiping down dusty surfaces, when he came across Michaud smoking a joint near the dumpster.

“Don't you complain when Lucy and Penny get high out here?” It would be the same argument. He'd said over and over that he was neutral and not their white knight, Michaud would complain that their customers didn't like knowing that their fucktoys wanted to do something else and the girls should at least make it less hard for themselves. And that fuck you, he wasn't being unfair, he was just being a realist and trying to manage a load of drama queens.

The actual answer was something he didn't expect. “Shelly would have been twenty three today. Her kid would have been at least three, she was too stupid to get an abortion as you know.”

Feeling like the energy had been sapped from him, he much rather preferred to repress this stuff, he leaned against the wall. “Didn't think you remembered birthdays,” he said wearily, as an ambulance droned past them.

A too casual shrug. “Only when they off themselves like lemmings.”

“She was one of those who was always going to die young though, pregnancy through guy refusing to wear a condom-” There had been enough panics even to this day for him to know that had been the case. “-or no.”

Michaud glanced at him disdainfully. “And you call me the mean cynical fucker.”

He wasn't the one that made up the rule about how if you were fifteen minutes late, you both didn't get pay for the night and had to do the menial work too, but that was an argument for another time.

Michaud spoke again. “None of them”, glaring at the club inside like his eyes could melt the wall, “even talk about her.”

Again, he was only considered the white knight in comparison. “Well a lot of them came after she died. She was basically proto-Lucy too.”

It'd be disrespecting the dead to say she wasn't the easiest to like, with her rape jokes not just about her own experiences but others too (especially if they didn't want her to), proud self harm scars, way of caring being to perform health spells for you, and wanting to fly so much she'd jump off a building just to get a rush.

“You'd think holy Liz would honor her memory.” The whole sentence was like a spit. That period of Liz thinking Michaud was a softie because he was nice to her son sometimes didn't end well.

“Liz knows when to keep her mouth shut though. She probably misses her in private.”

Michaud threw his joint down and crushed it under his boot before stalking inside. “Keep that up and she'll probably want to marry you,” he tossed off with scorn.

Ellis sighed with the wind, stuck with broken girls who burned themselves away.

Saturday

Saturday afternoons were Stacey's favorite. She had both Friday and Saturday nights off work (most of the time anyway, their kind of clientèle seemed to stay in those nights and they could only make snide guesses as to why), and after a week of running around UIC she always needed the relaxation. Even when she was struggling with the psychology part of the discourse seminar coursework.

But that didn't mean she didn't welcome Lucy jumping on her bed, the sharp elbow in her spine aside.

“What do you wanna do?” Lucy said, chewing gum loudly and not getting off Stacey's back. Her partner Rory always visited family on weekends, and as nice as he was, Stacey was always glad when he went away.

“You like tumblr more than me, wanna do my discourse assignment?” She didn't even have to turn around to see Lucy vehemently shaking her head.

She closed her laptop. Cheap thing with bad connection anyway. “Okay, just to say now, you're my best friend but I'm not going out drinking with you after last time.”

Lucy sat up, putting more pressure on Stacey's back, looking hurt and offended. “She started it!”

“You gave her a black eye for cutting in line!”

Lucy fell back, making the bed creak. “Well I hate that. What do you wanna do?”

Without giving Stacey a chance to think, she jolted up again and leaped off the bed, taking Stacey's hand and dragging her along. “I know! Weekend minutes, call my mom!”

She was fine with that. Ms Ivers was that nice mix of tough and sweet and treated her far nicer than her own mom, the queen of passive aggressive.

Lucy essentially bounced on the couch, taking out her mobile and ringing her mom's phone, putting it on speaker.

“What if she's busy?”

The redhead blew a raspberry. “It's a Saturday. She'll have fallen asleep watching Access Hollywood at worst.”

The voice did indeed sound groggy. “Hello?” At Lucy's perky “hi mom!” and Stacey's shyer “hi ma'am”, the warmth came back into her creaky voice.

“Oh! Lucy! Stacey! I'm sorry I was just napping.” Lucy did a “told you!” grin in Stacey's direction. “A chef who I can't remember the name of split up with someone else, tragic.”

After laughing, Lucy curled up on the couch. “So how are you mom?” It was casual, but anyone could hear the “if you're not okay then I'm coming over” subtext.

Including Ms Ivers. “Everything's great dear” she said in the most of sincerest of voices. “The other drivers have arranged a steakhouse visit tomorrow. I've never done that before!” The woman would be sixty next year but she still sounded like she was going on her first date.

Frowning, Lucy dived right into 'protective eldest daughter' mode. “Are these men honourable?”

“Oh honey,” her mother started, and Stacey was amazed at there being no traces of patronizing. “You know I've been working for years, and I've gone out with them before. They're all very sweet and we've decided to embrace the stereotype this Christmas party.”

That seemed to satisfy the daughter. “Okay, as long as you're safe.”

Ms Ivers sighed affectionately before deciding to include Stacey in on the conservation. “So Stacey, where are you at in your studies?”

She leaned over from her space at the edge of the coffee table. “Just started my PHD, ma'am.”

The woman cooed like Stacey was her own daughter, and Stacey felt weak for wanting to break down. “Isn't that something! What courses are you taking?”

She stole a glance at Lucy, not wanting to dominate the conversation, but her friend gave her a reassuring nod. “Uh, theory and practice in criticism you gotta take, but basically a discourse... course, global and multiethnic literatures and cultures, and Victorian studies.”

“That's so wonderful!” The pride in her voice really was making Stacey want to cry. Her mom never acted like this, not even with her golden child brother but especially not with her the accident.

Lucy, being the big sister sub that she was, picked up on that and changed the subject to something everyone at the club had heard about the past few weeks. “Mom, has Macayla told you what an asshole her girlfriend is being?”

Ms Ivers sighed for real. “I know dear. But they're in early twenties, and maybe lesbian culture is less exclusive than heterosexual?”

Obviously hearing Lucy's gasp of rage preceding an explosion, she continued. “I'm nearing sixty darling, you remember when I had a panic attack at you making out with that Vicky girl at such a young age.”

Lucy still looked like she wanted to kick a puppy, so Stacey interjected with a hopefully safer change of topic. “How's Leo doing, ma'am?”

Ms Ivers let out a pained noise, Stacey kicked herself for fucking up again, and Lucy's angry face went right into alarm. “Oh he's not doing very well...”

“Who do I kill?” Stacey knew Lucy well enough to realize she really would stab whoever hurt her brother. Bury the body in a place nobody would find it and get away with it, having no mark on her conscience too.

“Nobody, Lucy. He's just in one of his depressive slumps but refuses to come home for Christmas. He think it'd be too much of a burden and I don't understand why I can't convince him I want you all here. I even offered to pay for his flight or pick him up so we could have five hour conversations like we used to but no...”

Lucy ruffled her spiky hair, like she always did when she was trying to form a plan. “I'll talk to him. Drag him back if I have to.”

“Be kind to him dear. I've made all of you such stubborn sensitive souls.” Again, Stacey's mom would have used it as a guilt trip. Lucy's mom sounded like she actually loved her children. She'd known the woman for almost five years now and she still wasn't used to it.

“You know I will, mom. Big sister to the rescue.” She picked up the phone. “Mom, we gotta go. Gonna use a lot of minutes on him. I love you and take care, okay?”

“Of course. Be safe at work, girls!”

-

Marz was window shopping alone today. Chick had cancelled due to, judging by the phone message she received, “I feel like a large animal shit itself in my head”. Or in other words, she was too hungover to make it.

She didn't mind so much. She loved the other woman's company of course, but she liked her private time as well, and sometimes getting really sad in Bloomingdales (both because that suit was so pretty but pricy, and other reasons) was best done alone.

But she was coming out of Potbelly Sandwich Works, having had one oatmeal chocolate chip cookie and saving the rest for when she was pissed off and needing sugar later on, when she ran in to someone she hadn't seen in years.

“Oh,” said Goggles, wide-eyed. She hadn't changed at all, the titular goggles still perched atop her head.

She wanted to light up then and there, a joint or just spontaneously combust, either would work. She settled for sticking her hands in her suit pockets, not wanting to fidget in front of the ex that had kicked her out for taking too many drugs.

“So,” she started, not knowing what should come next. This was the most awkward moment of her life, and that was including the time she'd ran into Linkara's mom at Crisp N Clean just a few minutes away from the club.

“You look... neat,” Goggles muttered, casting her gaze over Marz's black and white suit. “I like the new look.”

She genuinely didn't have any romantic feelings left for the woman, preferring instead to be a realist about this kind of thing, but the compliment still made her heart flutter. “Thank you, makes me feel better than the jumpsuit.”

“That's good.”

They both stood there for a few seconds, completely lost, and then Goggles jolted her head in another direction. “Oh someone's calling me!” she lied, and rushed off like a baby deer.

Marz blinked, then had the rest of the cookies.

She'll drag Chick out of bed herself next time.

Sunday

Penny didn't hate Donna exactly (to be honest she didn't really hate anyone, even people she should, powers of repression), but they weren't really friends. Donna didn't hide her impatience with Penny's problems, or with anyone's really, and Penny always thought Donna was one of those who peaked at a young age and would always look back at high school being the best years of her life.

So why she was spending her Sunday trailing after the woman and the lady explaining the spa (of course Donna had booked treatments for whoever was joining her before anyone had actually joined her) to them, she had no idea. Besides, she thought she left early mornings at U of C, and she missed her bed. The Other Girl would no doubt be there, but at least that was torment she had got used to. And welcomed occasionally.

She wasn't going to ask, just be grateful because she'd never had anything like this even growing up, but when they were changing into their robes the awkward silence was too much.

“So um,” how to satisfy her curiosity without pissing Donna off, or having an argument that would bring nightmares of grating the girl's skin away. “Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but what brought this on?”

Donna didn't look at her, instead muttering under her breath. “You decide to be charitable for a change...”

She couldn't help but feel indignant at the put-upon voice. “I don't need pity friendship,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

To, she guessed, Donna's credit, she didn't blow up like normal. Though she was clearly gritting her teeth. “Never said that. Just thought, with your... stress, that the two for one offer would benefit you the most.”

She still felt uneasy and condescended to, Stacey and Lucy seemed to at least take an interest in her life aside from the crazy, but her parents had always taught her to be thankful. “I appreciate it.”

Donna flipped her hair, straightening her robe and walking out with a passive aggressive grunt.

The shared facial (and the teenage girl in her, mostly voiced by the Other Girl, giggled at finally managing to get the nice version of the word) was in a few hours, and she figured she should stay out of Donna's way, so she headed for the pool. She knew enough that Donna was more of the sunbed type and didn't like water as much. Probably would frizz up her precious hair.

She didn't get to be in it much, but water always helped calm her head. That's why, as crappy and overpriced as her apartment was, she always tried to keep her bathtub clean, with bath-bombs on the side. She knew she could keep her money but she couldn't help it, they were pretty and relaxing and she felt like she deserved a couple of luxuries.

And when she had the chance to swim, she'd go right under the water, muffling all the noise and hell of above, fulfilling little girl fantasies of being a mermaid (the kind sweet versions, not the fanged murdering abominations the Other Girl so badly wanted to be) and feeling like, for once, no bugs were in her hair.

But time always went by faster when she wasn't wanting to die, and it was sadly nearly time to deal with humans again. She steamed herself off, tied her hair away from her face and met a very glistening, slightly improved mood Donna in the waiting room. They greeted each other with a smile and she hoped for the best.

The improved mood didn't last long, as when the woman left the masks to set, Donna spoke up again. “I hope you're not going to have a freak out again. I like this place and I don't want to get banned.”

Smacking Donna's head against the wall until her skull cracked popped up in her brain, but she banished it. “Yeah, cos that's the most important thing.”

Donna's voice was irritatingly condescending. “Well if you actually told people what was going on, they might not have the same priorities.”

She got the shit beaten out of her by Chick when she tried. “You're not exactly one to over share either. I know you're genuinely narcissistic, were a cheerleader, and you like spitroasts. That's it.”

“Pff.” She hit a nerve, clearly.

“Alright”, she said, feeling too tense despite the soothing music. “Tell me something real about yourself.” At the woman's scoff, she carried on. “That isn't about how great your hair is or how monogamy is a trap.”

She could imagine Donna's eyes rolling underneath the cucumbers. “You are such a loser.”

“And you can be a bitch.” She knew full well that wasn't The Other Girl talking.

“Okay.” It came out more like a grunt of pain. “You want to know something about me?”

“I did ask.”

Donna took off the vegetables around her eyes, and sat by Penny's lounge chair, almost like she thought the distance would be too much. “Okay”, she said again, fidgeting with her dressing gown. “I don't actually have a tan.”

It was kind of nice to be confused about something normal for once. “That... doesn't count.”

“I'm working up to it!” If the shrillness continued then something bad was going to happen, she could feel it.

A deep breath and finally there was actual talking. “So I was born in good old Tennessee, with those kind of parents who just want you to marry off and not suck dick for a living, but I found out there's a load of Irish and Italian immigrants in my family.”

This was not endearing Donna to Penny honestly. “And? That's not a scandalous thing.”

Brown (that yeah, she didn't really know how Donna convinced all the boys that they were just fucking a white girl who got a lot of sun) skin blushed and she ducked her head. “You don't understand. For one, that's like grandparents at least. For 1.5, from the way my parents reacted there's obviously...”

“If you say worse I'm walking out.” She knew she couldn't really talk, most of her family line lived in Chicago, but she wished she'd never asked this.

“My best friend is Nigerian it's fine!” Donna almost screamed, completely agitated, running a shaky hand through her mane. Finally she took a shaky breath. “It's hard to unlearn this stuff okay? Especially when you've been told you have to hide everything to get ahead.”

She sounded so tiny for once that Penny's bleeding heart got a new cut.

“If it helps”, she said haltingly, wondering if she should take the woman's hand. “Wherever you're from, you wear it well.” That seemed to be the best thing to say.

It was like Donna had deflated, but in a good way. “Aww,” she moaned, springing up to give Penny a hug. “You're such a nice freak!”

That was the best she was gonna get, and the spa day went smoother after that.

~

It was ten in the morning, and every cell in Mary's body was telling her to go back to bed. Even if she weren't working that night (and the previous), any other time she would have had to be dragged out of her 'bugs crawling all over her beanie babies' room. Sleep was too precious, and even though she actually felt the right temperature in the cold, she'd still rather enjoy it from inside.

But Liz had cornered her last night, admitting that she wasn't really doing well in the brain this week, and if she went alone to church she'd slip up and she was sorry for being so aggressive and passive aggressive at the same time but can Mary look after her just once?

So there she was, in Liz's car, parked in the ground behind the church, with Liz muttering to herself and Andrew restless and fidgeting with his mini suit in the back.

“This was a mistake,” went the muttering, as her knuckles were white gripping the wheel and a look on her face that clearly meant she hadn't registered Mary's and Andrew's presence. “I'm just gonna eat a lot and puke later and cry all night.”

At Andrew's pained noise, his eight year old mind not getting the nuances of bulimia but knowing something was wrong, Mary gingerly rubbed the small of Liz's back like her father used to do to calm her down. She wasn't very good at comforting, that was the only move she knew how to do.

“Come on,” she said softly. “They'll suspect more if we stay here.”

Liz breathed heavily and muttered again (Mary knew enough that it was a prayer) under her breath. “You're right. I'm okay.” It seemed more of a reassurance to herself than anyone else.

As soon as they got out of the car though, with shop bought (Liz hadn't been too worried about that, these people at least knew she could make them sick if she tried to cook) fairy cakes in tow, they caught the eye of a well-dressed blonde woman who had previously been fussing over an irritated boy in a suit.

“Elizabeth! Darling!” Her accent matched her look, privileged all the way.

Liz immediately changed, her back going straighter, her face relaxed, and Emma Thompson came out of her mouth. “Meredith sweetie, it's so good to see you.”

They kissed each other's cheeks, and Andrew tugged at Mary's hand, his pleading eyes desperate to play with the other boys before he had to sit bored listening to bible verses. She let him go but immediately felt lonely.

“Meredith, this is Mary. Lovely young girl.” Liz was always the mother. It was both patronizing and comforting at the same time.

Liz's friend looked her over, and Mary felt like she was being sized up at the club again, except she was being found wanting in her oversized sweater, skinny jeans, a blue bow to spice up her hair and brown calf boots. Still seemed just as exposed, and she had the impression these people could tell if you were lower classed from a mile away.

The woman eventually, with a small smile, put her hand out for Mary to shake. Guess she passed the test. “Hello dear, how do you know Liz?”

Her heart froze over and Liz's stricken expression behind Meredith didn't help. All she knew is that Liz lied to her church friends, no other details. “I- I know her from work,” she said shyly, hoping that would cover it.

Luckily Liz came in to save her, as was her wont. “Yes, Mary delivers the post at the office! She also makes the best coffee, so everyone loves her the most, don't tell the other girls” she finished with a wink, making the other women laugh and Mary feel uneasy for reasons she couldn't work out.

It carried on like that, fake but well-meaning, and Mary had long started to feel itchy. No wonder Liz was a neurotic heap underneath it all.  
When they got to the car, and Mary's finger was being held by a backseated Andrew's fist, Liz slumped in the driver seat. “I'm sorry, that was a mistake.”

Mary frowned. “Why?”

“Because you saw me be a shitty person. That makes it more real and he'll,” she looked up at the sky sadly, “have less chance of loving me”.

Comforting her friend would be easier if the eight year old would let go. “I'm not a God girl, but don't you think he'd be more offended at you being so scared of him rather than doing what you have to.”

Liz laughed slightly. “I wish I had your innocence. Never mind. What do you want to do now?”

She wriggled her hand away from Andrew and shrugged. “I don't mind. Just drop me off home.”

Liz scrunched her face up like she did when male customers called her mommy and Mary wished she could take a picture. “That place is a hellhole. I'll treat you to a Starbucks and we can hang out at mine before work tonight."


End file.
